


007 - Hourglass

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Sick/Sad Van, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Hi! Pls would you write one inspired by hourglass."





	007 - Hourglass

The sun is shining in through the blinds, leaving horizontal stripes of light across your bed. You watched the night sky slowly fade to purple, pink, orange, then daylight blue. You want a cup of tea and a shower, but it seems too hard. You're hungover and fragments of memories are flashing in the front of your mind. It's hard to focus on anything but them, on Van.

"Van, you need to get your phone fixed before you go,"  
"It's alright, love. It will last!"

"Literally all of these shirts are long-sleeved? You're going to Australia!"  
"It's my look, Y/N."

Now, in these early hours, you wait for him to call. It's late afternoon where he is, so he has time. You yawn, sleep deprived and lonely in your bed. Your phone lights up. It's him.

"Van?" you answer quickly.

"Hey Y/N, told ya the phone would last, but the battery is draining fast, so we gotta be quick," he tells you. His voice acts like medicine and all the pain across your shoulders and in your heart drains away.

"I miss you, so much," you tell him. He pauses.

"I miss you too. What's been happening?"

You tell him about a new fish and chip shop that opened up around the corner from you, and how your classes were going well, and that Mary made a doggo best friend at the park. He laughed.

Things that you do not tell Van:  
The dream you had a couple nights ago, in which Van lead you through a crowded bar and fucked you against boxes of beer in a store room.  
The list you have in your head of baby names for your first born. At the top of the list is Niamh - which is pronounced Neeve, but you'd want the traditional spelling.  
That you are deeply in love with him, and your role as a best friend wasn't enough anymore.

Over the phone you hear someone yell Van's name. "Y/N, I gotta go. Sound check," he says.

"Yep, okay, talk later,"

"Uh-huh, bye love." And just like that, he is gone.

You bury yourself under the covers of the bed, warming under the mid-morning sun.

…

Your phone is ringing and it's Van. He sounds stressed, a state Van is hardly ever in. You ask him what's wrong. The apartment building he and Larry live in is two days away from being demolished. Apparently that information had been provided via a letter. Obviously, nobody was home to check the mail. They had finally got a hold of him, but his fucked phone was sending all his calls straight to voicemail. Van McCann was not good at checking voicemail.

"Okay… so… I go 'round and get all your stuff out. I can do that," you tell him.

"Y/N, that's asking a lot. Where would you even put it? How would you move it all? Half that furniture is junk anyway,"

"How 'bout I sell it? People can have it cheap if they take it out the flat themselves. I have the spare room, so you can crash here when you get back, or Larry can have that room and we can share or something,"

"Okay. Yeah. That'll work. You're fuckin’ class, Y/N. I owe you,"

"I'll add it to the list, McCann."

…

You neatly stack the boxes of Larry and Van's possessions in the spare room. They'd be back in a week, and it couldn't come soon enough. You are agitated and impatient. You spend the week pacing, and being way too moody at school and work. It takes all your willpower to not get on a plane, find him, and bring him home yourself.

Finally there is a loud knock and the voices of Van and Larry. Opening the door, it is like you can breathe again. Larry hugs you first, then Van. Van quickly pulls away from you to cough into his arm. It sounds painful, like a lung is disconnecting from the surrounding tissue.

The next day it sounds worse and you call in sick to work. You drive Van to the doctor, who says he has a bit of chest infection, but nothing serious. He just needs to rest, take the antibiotics, and drink a lot of hot lemon and honey tea. Lying on the couch watching old WWE matches, Van assures you that he is okay.

"You don't need to waste your day watchin' me. Go do something," he says. You shake your head and bring another cup of tea over. You can feel him watching you as you walk around, picking up the mess he and Larry had left. After a few hours, he is asleep, and you turn the television off. You sit on the floor in front of him and carefully push hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. He stirs and you quickly get up and move away.

"You're good, Y/N. Beautiful," he mumbles and falls back asleep.

…

A few days later you wake up coughing. There is a knock on the door and Van walks in. He is trying to suppress a grin.

"I am so fucking sorry!"

Larry has gone to visit his family for a few days, and the flat is quiet without him. Van has nobody to play with. Instead, he brings you tea and cleans the place and sits at the end of the bed playing songs to you. An apology for getting you sick.

You can feel the sweat sticking your clothes to your skin. Van watches as you get up and make your way to the bathroom. You close the door between you. The steam is good, and being clean helps a lot. Then, the door opens. You stick your head out of the shower and hold the shower curtain over you.

"What?" you croak out. He starts to undress. You stand up straighter, too shocked to move. He gets into the shower with you. The water from the shower head is hitting your back, and Van is standing naked in front of you like it is completely usual. He reaches for the shampoo, and pours too much into his hands, then proceeds to lather your hair.

"Tip your head back," he instructs. You do what he says. Your arms are at your sides and you still can't move, or talk, or think. You close your eyes as he washes your hair. It feels good, for a million different reasons. He spins you around and pushes you forward a little. You are facing the wall, and you put both hands flat on it in front of you for support. The water is hitting your lower back, as it passed by Van. He is standing close behind you, you can feel him, your legs touching. He puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you up straighter. His chest is pressed against your back and you can feel everything.

He kisses the back of your neck gently, and your shoulder blades. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry I didn't figure this out before," he says. You still don't know how to make words happen. You nod. "You are so good, Y/N. You're nice to everyone and are smart and beautiful and just, you're class, and Y/N McCann sounds right, and I love you." It's all you’ll ever want.


End file.
